Flight
by Serico
Summary: Raven Black is an average teenager. Or, she made out to be, before she snapped and went on a devastating killing spree. She was sent to Sword & Cross, her parents praying that she would redeem herself. Depressed and angry, Raven feels that her life is over...but will her mysterious neighbor, Damien, catch her eye and bring her back to the cheerful girl she once was? -Summary sucks-


"Yeah, I'm fine." I murmured quietly into the receiver of the phone. My brother shouted something at his friend, Ric, on the other end before I heard his voice properly through the phone. "Bet it's hell, isn't it?" I could practically hear the grin in his voice. I gritted my teeth. "Look, it's your fault we got caught in the first place." I snapped angrily. "But apparently, you _like_ reform schools. Hell, I can't do anything here." He chuckled.

"We get off eaaaasy here." He exaggerated the word to annoy me. "Don't make me regret calling you," I sighed. "We only get fifteen minutes of phone time and I've already used ten minutes of my time." He snorted on the other end. "Screw that. Hey, I gotta go. Why don't ya make a five-minute phone call to our parents?" "Of course, because I would just love to go through five minutes of lectures that will never end. Honestly, do you have a brain?" "Nope!" He responded cheerfully before a dull thud let me know that he had hung up. Seconds later an annoying beeping alerted me that my time had been used up. A short girl made her way up to the phone, glancing nervously at me. "Go ahead." I muttered, flipping my black hair out of my eyes. I smirked when she shuddered away from me and made a beeline for the phone. "Mum?" I heard her say, before I closed the lobby door behind me.

"Hey, Crow." I tightened my jaw and turned around. A tall boy was leaning against a wall, twirling something that looked an awful lot like keys in his hands. "Raven." I corrected, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Sorry." He said, smiling apologetically.. "And you are?" I asked, keeping my voice nonchalant like he wasn't irritating me. "Damien." He practically purred his name. "So, how did you get in here, Raven?" I blinked. Most people knew. "Killing spree." I responded. He raised an eyebrow. "You went on a killing spree." Damien's voice was sarcastic. I shrugged. "With my brother and a friend."

"And you don't care?"

"That's not up for discussion, Damien." I responded with a slight tinge of annoyance. "Of course I _cared_, you idiot, I just don't care _now_." I adjusted the strap of my bag along my shoulder and walked briskly to the dorms.

"Why not?" He asked, practically jogging along behind me.

I stopped walking. "Why do you want to know?" Damien shrugged as if this were a usual thing.

"God, you really must have done something light to get in here." I hissed. "It's easier not to care. I don't think I ever felt real remorse for what I did, though I can't say I didn't like it." I started walking again, trying to get rid of him.

His eyebrows went into his hair. "You like killing?" He asked. He sounded exasperated. I whipped around and he nearly ran into me. "Yes." I whispered, so low that only the two of us could hear it. "But you don't have a wristband." Damien gestured towards my nearly-bare, scarred wrists. I sighed and unzipped my bag, fishing through it until my hand closed around the mechanical band. We were in one of the few zones where the reds couldn't spy on us, so I wasn't worried about taking it out. "I found some pliers." I explained, handing it to him. "The only reason I carry it around it so that they won't notice, hence the gloves and this fake one." I held up my arms, on which there was a pair of elbow-length, fingerless black gloves, one with a rubber wristband protruding from underneath that managed to replicate the look of the shock-collar.

"Nice." He grinned. I grimaced. "My handiwork isn't expert, but I wanted that damned thing off."

Damien nodded as if he understood. I rolled my eyes and continued on. "Hey!" He cried out. "Wait up, will ya?"

"No." I grumbled, pushing open the doors of the blank building. "Aw, c'mon, please?" I rolled my eyes, walking as fast as I could towards my room. The door was decorated with pretty, intricate black designs, engraved and inked in by me. I'd even hammered a plaque into it with a cat stalking along it, little bats gliding along it's head. I turned the handle and was about to shut the door, when Damien burst in. "For the love of God!" I shouted, dumping my bag onto my bed and turning around, hands on my hips. "What do you want?"

He sat down on my bed and swung his legs softly. "Uh...Not sure." He answered, looking around my room. "Where did you get the paint?"

My face turned red and I plopped down onto the cover. "Roland." I answered. "Plus I know how to sneak things in a bit." I gestured towards the shelves that I'd made, packed with all my favorite books, the fuscia and cyan-blue walls that I'd painted black designs over. There was a lone wall facing my bed that I'd left blank. It was covered in pictures of my family, friends, and a few posters of bands I didn't even know. Not exactly the bedroom you would expect for a serial killer. "I know. It's cheesy."

"No, I think it's nice. What I want to know is, how did you get _this_ in?" He asked, patting the bed. I laughed. "I took it, piece by piece. I had help from tonnes of people. The mattress was a gift from my grandmother. She insisted. Nobody dared take it away from me."

Damien nodded, apparently listening. "Nice." He commented, smiling. I returned it grimly. "Now, would you mind leaving?" I asked. He frowned. "Why?"

I sighed. "Because I have a tonne of homework, it's Friday night, and we're at Sword & Cross. We all know how much shit we get in if the homework isn't finished."

He nodded knowingly, his dark brown hair flopping over his iridescent, pewter-gray-blue eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Not likely." I muttered, leaning back on the bed-stand. Damien raised his eyebrows. "Try to stop me." He half-laughed, making his way out as I cast him a dark look. "Goodnight, Raven." I smiled innocently. "I hope you have nightmares." He stuck his tongue out at me like a five-year-old. "Right back at you." I threw a pillow at the door just as he closed it, and, with a soft grin, stood and picked it up. It felt good to smile for something that wasn't very melancholy. Maybe this place wasn't as horrid as I had thought.


End file.
